


Now My Friends

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [32]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Gen, Mantioned animal abuse, Mentioned Cannibalism, Mentioned Gang Violence, Mentioned violence, Past Drug Use, Past Torture, rape jokes, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "Now my friends are rats and they're snitchin'!"J-Dog, Nightmare.Jorel asks Matty a question.
Relationships: n/a
Series: Victimised [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/910587
Kudos: 3
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Now My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> NAMES:  
> Jorel; J-Dog  
> Johnny (George); Johnny 3 Tears  
> Matty; Da Kurlzz  
> (Aron; Deuce)
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Mattyhas done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.
> 
> Worldbuilding note; this fic takes place in 2015, after Matty held Johnny captive and Jorel discovered the warehouse. The rest have not been discovered yet.
> 
> This fic is tagged as containing rape and violence but they're only mentioned. The tags are just to make sure the warning is loud and clear.

It had only been a week since Jorel followed Johnny home to the warehouse. Johnny hadn’t come back until Matty dragged him back tonight, worried about Johnny winding up under the hot-light of a good cop routine.

Jorel was already in the warehouse, laid out over the couch. He was messing with a second phone, half-drank beer on the floor next to him, cigarette hung from his lip, boots up on the arm of the couch like he owned the place.

Matty dumped Johnny down on the mattress, and Johnny was snoring before he even hit the floor. Matty rolled his eyes. He crouched down to remove Johnny’s shoes, then his belt and unfasten his jeans. He became aware of Jorel’s eyes boring into his back as he unfastened Johnny’s buckle. He stacked the items on the floor by Johnny’s side and stood.

Jorel was sat up, watching, beer in hand. The phone was done with and sat on the table with its battery and SIM card on either side of it, cigarette stubbed out on the SIM card and melting the thin plastic. A curious smirk wasn’t even trying to hide behind the neck of the bottle as Jorel rested the glass against his lips.“So. Matthew.”

“So Decker,” Matty replied, and took himself to the kitchen. At least Jorel had brought his own beer. Matty didn’t like to be inebriated here; he liked to be in control in his domain. He grabbed himself a soft drink instead, some cola covered in Cyrillic lettering.

“What exactly is this place?” Jorel had had to twist around to watch Matty.

“We had this conversation last week. I bring people here to torture, kill and cannibalise. Johnny is my only survivor, and now he helps me. Or I provide him with human punching bags; however you wanna view it.”

“Okay. But what’s going on with you and Johnny?”

“Nothing.” Matty sat down in the vacated corner of the couch, Jorel’s back inches from his side.

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

“That’s because you’re a pervert. Not my fault if you see gay shit everywhere.”

“Give me a straight explanation for taking another man’s belt off and unfastening his fly.”

“It’s uncomfortable to sleep in a belt and buttons. He’s cranky enough in the morning.”

“You’ve seen him a lot in the morning, huh?”

“Yes. Every morning for four months. We told you this last week.”

Jorel laid himself over Matty’s lap and re-crossed his ankles propped up on the couch.

“Would you take your shoes off my couch?” Matty said.

Jorel blinked at him.

“Either sit up or take your shoes off. I paid for this couch.”

Jorel smirked and kicked his shoes off. “Are you this bossy with Johnny?”

“Johnny doesn’t put his dirty shoes up on the couch.”

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” Jorel said in his specific mocking-Matty growl, “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny! _Oh Johnny_!”

Matty drove a knee up into Jorel’s shoulder at the mocking moan. “Fuck off.”

“No, I think I’d better stay. Don’t want you having your wicked way with my boy Johnny 3 while I’m gone.”

“I held him captive for four fucking months, dumbass.”

“So your wicked way’s already been had?”

“If you insist on saying it like that.”

Jorel’s grin was pulled ear to ear. “You dirty bitch.”

“Not like that and you know it.”

“You kidnapped a guy, stripped him, chained him up, gave him drugs and did weird shit to him, and you want me to hear that in a totally straight way?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Or I could fuck myself right here. You’d like that, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

Jorel laughed, and poured the last of his beer down his throat. Matty resisted the urge to shove the bottle down Jorel’s jaw and let him choke on it.

Beer gone, Jorel relaxed against Matty’s lap, smirking up at him like a mischievous kitten. “So. You saw Johnny naked.”

“Yep.”

“You liked it.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Why’d you do it if you didn’t even like it, huh?”

“It was necessary!”

“Oh yeah, real _necessary_!” Jorel pumped a fist over his crotch.

“Fuck off!”

Jorel laughed. Johnny snorted and rolled over.

“You wake Johnny up you’re dealing with him,” Matty said.

Jorel sat up to peer at Johnny. Johnny was facing away from him, jeans hitched down to show off his boxers. He’d gained a little weight over the past year but was still skinnier than a man his height should be.

“I think he’s fine,” Jorel said, “He’s asleep.”

“Just keep your damn voice down,” Matty hissed, “I ain’t dealing with him.”

“You ‘dealt’ with him for four months.”

“Yeah, when he was starving, coked out of his head, and on a leash. Bit different to his state now.”

“You kept him on a leash! Kinky fucking bitch!”

“Fuck off,” Matty muttered.

“What else? C’mon, tell me. Tell me everything!” Jorel sat up and shuffled around to face Matty. He crossed his legs, propped his chin up on his fists and smiled like an eager schoolboy staring at a guest speaker who just promised him a lollipop if he’s a good boy.

“You want to hear how I tortured one of your closest friends?”

“Yeah. Wanna hear about the time I dislocated Aron’s shoulder?”

“Not really.”

“Fine. But tell me anyway.”

“No.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you’ll make gay jokes every two fucking seconds.”

Jorel’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “You were _that_ bad?”

“Fuck you,” Matty shoved at Jorel.

“Come on! I promise not to make jokes, okay? Promise. If I do, you have full permission to smack me.”

Matty eyed him.

“Free ride to Smacksville. Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”

“You really want to know this?”

Jorel stuck a hand out. “We got a deal?”

Matty took the hand and Jorel lead the vigorous shake. He returned to his schoolboy pose, smile split wider into a hungry grin.

“Fine. I uh…” Matty faltered. He’d run through this speech a few times, but always imagined speaking into a recording device as a detective and a security guard watched, Matty’s wrists cuffed secure to the table. Matty would stare that grizzled detective in the face as he listed off his sins and crimes, making sure to enunciate each word crystal clear so not a detail would be lost to bad feedback. He’d watch the recorder to make sure it didn’t run out. He’d watch the clock and give that grizzled detective and the disturbed guard five minutes every half an hour to recuperate. That grizzled detective would insist on ploughing on, but the poor guard would have to change out at the first excuse. Recently, this little fantasy of Matty’s would cycle through six guards before Matty was up to date. Although he was considering shortening the changes to twenty minutes once he got up to Johnny. There’s an extra layer of awful when you torture someone you’re meant to care about.

But describing it to Jorel was strange. Describing it to an eager-to-listen Jorel was even stranger. Describing it to an eager-to-listen Jorel who has own recent violent crimes to rattle off to the grizzled detective was even stranger still.

“I, uh, got him back here,” Matty rambled. Maybe he should practice his speech for the grizzled detective instead of just imagining it, “Stripped him, chained him to the wall and waited for him to wake up.”

Jorel watched Matty’s face without even a hint of a smirk or a joke.

“He woke up, and I put the shock collar on him.”

“You got him a shock collar?!” Jorel repulsed at that, visions of burnt and blistered dogs flitting through his head.

“Yeah. Kept it on a low voltage and only gave him short shocks. I stopped needing to after about a week. The coke worked better.”

“And he left it on?”

“It had to be unlocked before it could be unbuckled or it gave a shock. He only tried it once when I was here, maybe more when I was gone. Didn’t try hard enough to kill himself, so that’s… that.”

“Could it have killed him?”

“Doubt it, but the collar’s designed for dogs not humans so…” Matty shrugged.

“Do you still have it?”

Matty blinked, “Yeah. In the drawer.”

Jorel jumped up, kicking his empty bottle over. He jumped over the coffee table and headed straight over to a wooden set of drawers Matty had found at a thrift store. He pulled the bottom drawer open and rummaged through.

“Top right,” Matty called, and Johnny snorted behind him. He stood and followed Jorel across, kicking the bottle across the floor. It rolled in a lazy circle away from him and round behind the couch.

Jorel opened the drawer and stared into it. “Dude…”

“What?” Matty said. He’d reached Jorel and took out the collar.

It was a thick thing, covering Matty’s palm and hanging down either side of his hand. The bulge of the shock box rose from his palm, dense plastic and metal.

Jorel took it carefully. He turned it over to survey the two metal prongs, shorter than he’d expected. They looked more like shiny buttons. Jorel rolled his thumb over them, and they felt cold.

“You electrocuted him with this thing?” Jorel said.

“Yeah,” Matty said.

“It’s so little. Where’s the remote?”

Matty waved it at him. Jorel took it and pressed the prongs into his throat.

“Whoa! No!” Matty grabbed the collar. Jorel blinked at him. Matty adjusted the collar, until the prongs were in the side of his neck, “Not in the throat. You don’t want to damage the throat, you breathe there. Just the side, here. It’s still sensitive, but it won’t be doing as much damage as it feels like.”

“Oh.”

Matty still held the box in place, his pinky against Jorel’s collarbone. Jorel looked the remote over, a thumb-length box that would hide snugly in a hand. A large button sat in the middle. A crust of blood sat in the bottom, where the button met the casing.

Jorel took a deep breath. He pressed the button.

The warehouse was silent. The prongs were cold. Jorel pressed the button again. And again. And gave the remote a few good smacks awake before pressing the button yet again. Still, nothing happened.

“Batteries must be dead,” Matty said, “It’s been a while.”

Jorel side-eyed Matty. He took the collar back and looked it over for a forgotten off switch. Not finding one, he tossed the collar on top of the drawers.

“Not sure why you’d want it,” Matty said, “Maybe you’re the kinky one.”

“You’d like that,” Jorel said, “You’d like a masochist boy to play with.”

“They’re different. But they still die.”

Jorel stared at him. “What?”

“I’ve had a couple of darlings who turned out to have a masochistic streak. It’s not like you’d think,” Matty leant on the drawers, playing with the mouth of his drink, unable to look at Jorel, “It’s pretty much the same, but sometimes they smile at you. Catches you out, really. But it doesn’t make much different if they love it or hate it, they’re not going anywhere. And they still die.”

“I don’t pay that much attention,” Jorel said, “I just get the info. Never known ‘em like it.”

“Maybe you need to pay more attention. Or go a little slower.”

Jorel snorted. “You tellin’ me you’re slow and passionate?”

“Something like that. And you’re, uh, hard and fast.”

Jorel laughed.

“I’m serious, man. Take your time and people are surprising. Survive more than you’d think.”

“Like Johnny did?” Jorel said.

“I wasn’t trying to kill Johnny.”

They stared at each other for several seconds.

“He begged me to kill him, you know,” Matty said, “When he stopped taking the coke. His withdrawal was awful. He was constantly dripping with sweat, and shaking, and crying. I think he was hearing voices for a couple of days. Once he announced he was done with coke, death was the only thing he begged for.”

“Shit,” Jorel said. “Why didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you kill him? He can’t go to the cops if he’s dead. He can’t lead other people here if he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want him dead. I still don’t.”

“You just wanted him to suffer.”

Matty didn’t answer for several seconds. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

Glass shattered above their heads and rained down on them. Jorel leapt for Matty and dragged him down as he hit the deck. Matty’s drink spilled over and dripped down the front of the drawers as it rolled and fell to the floor next to them.

Johnny stood opposite them, arm still hurled in front of him in the swing of throwing the bottle. He was panting.

“Johnny, man,” Jorel clambered to his feet, and froze as a thick shard dug through his sock into his foot.

“Fuck you,” Johnny hissed.

“We were just talking!” Jorel said, “He’s still your sadist, don’t worry.”

“Fuck you!” Johnny dove forward and shoved the couch over into the coffee table. The thin wood buckled and snapped under the sudden new weight.

“George!” Matty barked, and both Johnny and Jorel jumped. “Calm the fuck down!”

Johnny spat in Matty’s general direction. He backed off from the couch and stepped into his abandoned shoes.

Jorel hobbled across the warehouse, rewarded with a smaller shard in his other foot. “Look, man. I was just curious. I asked, okay?”

Johnny hiccupped in response.

“I think it’s pretty bad-ass. Going through all that shit, coming back, keeping it all in. Takes some fucking guts. Like, I’ve got crazy respect for you after this.”

Johnny pulled his belt on and buttoned himself up.

“I mean… fucking Bad Ass Mother Fucker over here.”

Johnny lashed out. His blow sent Jorel sprawling on his ass with a yelp.

“Johnny!” Matty snapped.

Johnny’s head turned to him. His eyes were bloodshot red and laced with hatred.

“We were just talking,” Matty said, “None of it is leaving this warehouse.”

Johnny growled. He shifted his feet in his unlaced shoes and stormed out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober 2020.
> 
> Some more worldbuilding notes/reminders:   
> Jorel is a torturer and information broker for the mob, hence the second phone and the need to destroy it after use.  
> He and Aron were groomed as teenagers and pitted against each other in a competition to be the most 'badass' and rewarded with drugs, alcohol and eventually prostitutes. Years later, as Deuce left HU, Jorel and Aron killed the guy who recruited and groomed them but had a fight straight after which Jorel won after dislocating Aron's arm.  
> At this point the warehouse/murderhouse is only set up for Matty and one darling. After this fic, Jorel helps Matty organise more furniture, including a new coffee table and a bedframe, and later two more sofas as the rest of the band are outed as killers.  
> Quick reminder that this is fictional, and I highly doubt that the band has actually done any of this.
> 
> Don't talk about people while they're sleeping, that's super rude.
> 
> Remember to stretch on a semi-regular basis. Stretch your back after staying in one position for a long time, stretch your hands after typing, stretch your legs after standing still. Look after your bones.


End file.
